Driven
by SunRise19
Summary: A different approach to situations at the end of Pocahontas 2. Sometimes, a person can go absolutely mad. Even if their intentions are for the greater good. However, what good can come from a woman who knows she has made the wrong decisions with no feasible way to rectify them? PLZ RR!...COMPLETE


A/N: Hi all!

I would give yourself time to read this novel of a one-shot lol! I had fun writing it and I hope the same is true for you reading this.

Dedicated to HC who if it was not for her insistence this wouldn't have gotten done. I thank you so much!

This fic took a few days to complete as I could not decide how to end it. I hope you like what I've chosen! It seemed to take on a life of its own and I just went with the writing experience. This story is inspired by many things such as the emotions I got from reading a story called, "Painting with the Wind," written by Psyche Blue and a song from the Aida musical soundtrack.

I hope you enjoy and please do not forget to leave a comment on your way out! They really mean a lot to me and I greatly appreciate them. Thank you so much for your time I hope you like the story!

DISCLAIMER: I do not own any of the characters that are mentioned in this work of fanfiction. History and the Disney company own said characters I am just using them for entertainment only.

-..-..-..-

"No, thank you."

"Would you like tea?"

"Would you like to go with me to the market?"

"No, not today."

"Would tomorrow be better? I can bring samples of different gowns for you to try on.-"

"No, tomorrow is not good."

"I am fine," she replied nodding her head, "Nothing is wrong. I just have not been well lately."

A touch that is meant to be comforting on her hand from John Rolfe makes her flinch as if having scalding hot water thrown on her. It is then she retreats back to her immaculately decorated room in his English house.

Her over sized, frilly, oddly shaped room with heavy window hangings and silk sheets that do not hide the tears well. The fluffy pillows quiet her sobs as these events, these thoughts, his face, voice and eyes only haunt her at night.

Also, night is the time when she knows she is alone. Truly alone as John Rolfe for the sake of propriety would never, under any circumstances outside of the two of them being wed or save her dying would ever enter her bedchamber. Not even to comfort her.

Especially not to comfort her.

So the nightly ritual of endless sobbing, ceaseless regrets, wishful prayers and longing heart ache continues for a week, then two, three…

Mrs. Jenkins notes how she really doesn't need to wear a corset anymore.

Pocahontas thinks she never really needed one and wonders if he would agree with her.

She knows, in her heart that he would.

"You are losing weight child," the older woman comments as the younger pulls herself together for a day out on the town. A day that all around her agree that it would be good for her to get out of the house.

'This is not you.' A tiny voice says in her head as she stares at herself in the full length mirror in her room. The girl, no woman in the glass she muses would never have shut herself away. That was before all eyes of so called noble society were fixed on her like a bear's hungry eyes fix on its prey.

She thought she had made the right choice. She would have sworn to anything that she had a month ago. John Rolfe was kind, safety, reliable, held a high position in the king's court.

He could keep her people safe.

The other could not.

She knows that at the end of all of this diplomacy, her journey here was for that purpose and that purpose only. Not her happiness, joy, to reunite with her lost love. No matter that she thought he was dead merely to discover that he was in all actuality alive and going about his business like he had not a care in the world. Like he had never known her despite his flowery words to the contrary that she had not fully believed in her heart for no action supported them. It was none of that at all. She was happy when she truly thought about it for no more wars would happen with the white settlers and her tribe.

He on the other hand was born of a low rank, it hardly raising much beyond captain and a diplomat would always beat a captain.

Always would beat a captain in rank and social standings as far as the English were concerned.

That was the English though. Her people had no such formality when it came to some foreign diplomat over the captain that saved the life of their beloved leader.

Saving the life of her father.

'Why had he done that?' She thinks and breathes in London's damp air.

Her dark eyes were the first things to move in the equally black night as she lay in bed. She had seen him that day as she tried, not knowing if she had been successful or not to hide herself behind a crate of fresh apples. He had stood with his back to her, his head of golden hair nodding at a man in a stall full of dried and smoked meats. She continued to watch as he moved down the line, exchanging words with people whose faces she didn't care to glimpse. She was glad she could not hear his voice for just seeing his lips move was already chipping away at whatever was left of her soul.

Closing her eyes again, she allowed her body to relax as much as it could. She hated the bedclothes, they still feeling foreign against her skin even after all this time. The lace on her nightdress and how every evening the old woman would bring her tea in order to help her sleep. She did not hate the old woman, not at all for the lady was so kind to her and did not ask probing questions to which Pocahontas would be forever grateful. It was really the tea she hated, with its bitter taste that reminded her of tears no matter how much honey she would put in to the glass cup. The woman would loathe the pillows if they did not serve the purpose of stifling her sobs.

She supposed, in an ironic twist of fate that the man she so desperately pined over, the man she now regretted letting go for a second time had the same name as the man who slept a floor away from her. If anyone were to pass by her room and hear her sob a name in the dead of night they would think it was the call of a love struck woman.

They would not be wrong.

It is during one of these nights, as the darkness continues to give her the stillness and privacy she needs in order to face another day that Pocahontas realizes she has not been doing a good nor convincing job of it. She has put off the fitting of her wedding gown long enough and time with John Rolfe even lengthier than that.

"I have made my decision," she says to the darkness with an air of finality, "He has also made his own choice. I miss him… I will always miss… I will always love… Why, why will I always love him if he, he…"

'He walked away. He let you walk away.'

She cannot even speak it out loud as the words echo in her heart. A sob escapes her lips as a shuttering breath overtakes her form and she hunches in the frilly bed surrounded by the velvet heavy curtains. While the fluffy pillows hide her screams as she holds one over her face while her soul is broken like a crippled boat tossed by the violence of the wind. Her tears feel like hot water soaking her cheeks and her head throbs with the effort of breathing and crying. Desperate, lonely cries amid gasping choking breath with only the pillows for company. Her animal friends having been spotted before the boat had left Jamestown and thus were not permitted to come.

"It would not be proper," the ever practical proper Rolfe had stated as Pocahontas drew in another sharp breath.

"Damn you," she now sobs clutching at the pillow, "Why, why do I put myself through this when you so clearly do not give a…?"

She doesn't hear the click and by the time she registers the frigid damp air blow her bed curtains it is to late. The pillows serve another purpose as they muffle the shriek coming from Pocahontas's mouth as a man sits on the other side of the same bed.

"I will remove the pillow if you stop screaming," he whispers and the woman can hear the slight chuckle laced in his words.

This only succeeds in infuriating her as she grits her teeth. She can't breathe to reply. Takes in air until she comes to the realization she can't anymore and yet the pillow remains over her face. His hands, cold and rough over her own as her body lurches from not enough oxygen. Eyes wide, she watches as he grabs her wrists with one hand and the pillow with the other and slowly brings it down so that it lay on the bed between them. Her breath is at first manic then calms as she coughs and regains air back in her lungs.

"You," her voice is low and menacing and he does not pull back as she swiftly slaps him across the face, "You filthy git you…"

The other English horrible names she cannot think of at the moment so names in her own language would have to suffice as they followed another hit to the other side of his face. He could not help but marvel how her voice never raised and yet there was rage in her eyes.

"What do you want?"

Her voice was now hoarse though from crying or holding back anger he could not tell.

"I want to speak with you," he hurriedly went on as he saw her hand rise, "Please, I know I do not deserve to talk with you after… After what happened at the palace… After, after the letters were never sent… After all I have done…"

'He saved your father.' A small voice reminded her in the silence that followed. She sighs and remembers that she had a thought like that once.

"Why did you do it?"

He cocks his head, "Why did I do what?"

"Save my father's life."

"I love you," he replies.

"That does not answer my question John Smith. Why did you?-"

"I love you!" He shouts as Pocahontas hushes him with fingers to his lips. An action she does not realize she has taken until he had the audacity to hold her hand and she looks at where her fingertips rest.

"Spirits," she mumbles as she feels a spark within her light while she took her hand back in order to quell it.

"I have never been untruthful to you," he says softly, "I must have started a hundred letters but I, and I could not send them. I did that for you. I had men hunting me and if they found out I was alive… That you knew… I could not handle that pain. If I somehow put your life in peril, your people in danger I would never be able to forgive myself. Please, I beg you Pocahontas, please believe me."

She struggles with holding back another sob as she clenches her eyes shut for the woman had not thought of that possibility. It had not entered her mind.

'Why had it not done just that?' She muses as she swallows the lump in her throat.

"I thought you were dead," she states as her voice becomes higher in tone, "I thought the wound had killed you. That is what they had said. I had no news for five years. Five years, five long years John Smith and then the report from London said that you had died. Before that I thought… I thought you had… I, well that you had…"

"Forgotten about you?"

She can't stop the tears from following along with her heartbreaking cry as she shakes and her raven like hair hides her face.

"Oh, God," he breathes as he at once reaches for her she putting up no resistance at first. It is only when she calms down enough to notice that she is in his arms, against his broad chest that she squirms to get away.

"Don't do this," she whimpers. She had done without consoling touch for many moons now and she was not about to start now.

"Where is John Rolfe?"

"A floor away," she replies as she struggles in his hold, "Please, do not do this. It is not right… You shouldn't be here… Let go of me…"

He does not respond, only pulls her closer as her body tries not to relax in his gentle and all too familiar embrace. She inwardly groans as she feels her head loll towards his shoulder and she breathes in his smell that somehow has remained the same through all the years. Her eyes seem to close on their own accord as for the first time since her coming to this land her breath is even and the coldness that has seeped unknowingly in to her bones has now vacated.

"Please…"

Her protests sound weak even to her own ears as her body fights to stay awake. It longing and severely lacking the genuine sleep that it has not received in what feels like many days. There is a shift of movement and then warmth as through the haze Pocahontas realizes that another person has joined her beneath the pile of blankets.

"John…"

"Hush," it is his turn to place his fingers to her lips, "Listen to me Pocahontas. I need you to hear me and truly listen. Are you awake?"

"Yes," she answers barely above a murmur as a yawn escapes her as he draws her even closer, "Yes…"

"I will never ever in a million years forget you," he whispers in her ear and it might as well have been a yell as it jolts her out of the half sleep that she had fallen in at that moment. It is not long until she arrives to the realization that she can't move as the man has pinned her arms between them.

"John," his name comes out in a breathless whisper as he crushes himself on top of her lithe figure and his mouth falls on hers like a wave crashing upon the sand. However, the wave doesn't let up as again and again he kisses her until she, no, until neither of them can breathe anymore and he places his forehead on hers.

"Do not ever think again that I could forget you," he chokes out the words as he clings to her like the lifeline to his sanity she has become.

"I," Pocahontas can't speak for a moment until, "He will keep my people safe."

"What about you?"

"I am my people… I…-"

"What about your happiness?" He inquires his lips inches from her.

"My happiness and my people go hand in hand."

"That is only partly true," he kisses her slowly, "And you know it."

She clears her throat, "I will learn. I can teach myself your ways, culture and customs."

"Really?"

She nods in reply as she tries to get her hands free.

"From what I have heard you haven't been doing well lately."

"I am fine."

"You didn't even notice me messing with the lock to get in here you were sobbing so loud. Do you deny it?"

She grits her teeth and then relaxes her expression before replying, "No, I do not deny your words. I just, I, I just needed some time to get used to…"

Her voice fades away as she cannot think of how to finish her sentence.

Unfortunately for the woman the man above her has, "You needed some time to get used to the facts that you are throwing your life away for a man who didn't even look at you until you were laced and crammed in to a gown and your hair done up in curls. I also think it is fair to mention the reason he is so quick to marry you is for the praise from the king and townsfolk of a job well done changing a savage in to a lady and for.-"

"My people," she interrupts as he leans slightly off of her so now her hands are free. She flexes her fingers as she glares directly at him.

"How dare you speak to me as if…-"

"Answer me this question," he ignores her as he continues as she reluctantly nods, "Does he kiss you like this?"

The woman could have screamed or have pushed him away. Instead she gazes on as his mouth claims hers in a searing soul-bending kiss that makes her feel like she is drowning. He does not let up however as it deepens he exploring her mouth as if it were a new land that he had just discovered.

"John," a shallow whisper is dragged from her mouth before he begins again gently sucking on her bottom lip before entering her mouth once more. Despite all of this she finds that she can breathe and that her hands are moving towards his golden hair her briefly pondering if it still feels just as soft and inviting as the last time her fingers had run through it. She does not have to think on it long as the first few strands contact her flesh and they dive in, drawing his head if such a thing is possible closer to her. Grasping handfuls of his hair she finds that she is now kissing him back with just as much vigor as he.

"I love you," he says as he pulls away only to sample the flesh of her neck and Pocahontas closes her eyes to the new sensation.

"We cannot do this," she breathlessly states, "Not here. Not now. The past… John, it is done. We are done. I have to think of others."

She is fighting her desires and he knows it. However, he stops, moves away from her warm body and sighs as he tries to regain control, "Pocahontas would you please let go of the…-"

"John," she sharply interrupts him as the woman sits up suddenly, ignoring her body's protest as she glares, "Sometimes, we have to make choices that normally we would not make. I am trying to be reasonable with you."

"Oh, really," he dryly comments followed by a mirthless laugh as he sits as well, "By kissing me the way you have is that how you are reasonable? Well then, I am curious to know what you are like when you are unreasonable."

"Get out," she replies angrily as she turns her back on him, "Get out and leave me alone. We have nothing more to say to one another."

He hesitates a moment not believing her words, "Are you certain? Are you truly sure?"

"Yes," Pocahontas answers after a moment, "Yes, I am sure. As I said at the palace you and I walked the same path once. I have to do this. I will be alright. I will always care for you and I am very glad that you have always remembered me. That truly means a great deal to me John."

"If I leave here I will not be coming back."

"That is good John," she flatly replies.

"Smith," he says as she can hear him stand and walk towards her balcony door, "Say my full name. Are you certain you want me to go? Are you positive you don't want to put Rolfe's last name at the end of that?"

"What?" she inquires as bewildered she sits and swings her legs over the side of the bed and out of the warmth of the bedclothes. She feels exhausted, cold, and so weary that she blinks up at the ceiling as her feet touch the floor.

She cannot think clearly and he suddenly comprehends it. In his eyes she looks like a frightened animal that has been trapped and it not understanding that the person has opened the door and all it would have to do is run out of it in order to be free.

"Pocahontas…-"

"Get out John Smith I do not want you here… Others… Need me they need me!" she shouts and chokes on the words at the same time while her figure nearly slips to the ground. For a split moment he thinks she has gone mad until he picks her up and her arms go around his neck and tears soak his shirt.

"Hush," he soothes as he tucks her back in to the warm bed before climbing in himself.

"John," she exhales and sobs, "I… My people… They need me…"

"You need to sleep."

"That is why I said yes to his proposal while all the time I wanted it to be you… Why was it not you? Why can we not go do the things that we talked about? Do you remember under the willow? Spirits, I'm so tired… I can't sleep… Nightmares… People dying because I thought of myself… Regrets…"

"Hush now be still," he firmly yet gently says as he comforts the woman as her head lolls on his shoulder once more, "It is alright… You will be alright…"

"Please…"

"I will go and talk with the king's officials tomorrow. I will try to get an audience with his majesty as soon as possible. Will you come with me?"

A few shuttering gasps is her reply as he notes her eyes are closed and she has nestled against him. Her breath is deep and erratic as he strokes her hair until she calms down. This time, he does not ask nor tell her anything. His hand softly travels towards her face as he gently wipes the old tear stains away. He tenderly touches where they have fallen with his lips before softly, lovingly kissing her mouth.

He can feel her get more relaxed as he quietly soothes her body, the man realizing that it was her mind nearly driven to madness and his earlier conversation and threats to permanently depart her life had quickly brought everything to the surface.

"I am so sorry," he whispers as her breathing is finally even and she is completely limp in his arms. He quietly brushes her hair from her face, he kissing the dark strands before allowing his arms to settle around her form.

Recognizing that dawn was still quite some time off he allows his body to rest against her own. Feeling her heartbeat against him threw the thin material of her nightdress he lets out a breath of contentment being simply delighted with holding her.

-..-..—

"Pocahontas? Pocahontas, are you alright?"

From somewhere far away a knock at the door and a voice disturbs her dream of running through a field holding the hand of a man with blond hair and eyes the shade of the sky.

The woman in question languidly stretches and opens her eyes, panic ceasing her heart for a brief moment until using the light from the window she is able to see the piece of parchment tucked carefully in to her hand.

'It was not a dream after all.' She silently marvels as the knock comes again.

"Pocahontas?"

The native woman can hear the other's concern for her as she slowly gets out of bed and ambles over towards the heavy door. Opening it she lets out a sigh as Mrs. Jenkins enters in with a breakfast trey.

"Oh," she begins placing down the food, "I was so worried. It is nearly half past ten and Johnny has already left for the day and… You have slept all this time?"

Eyes wide, the native looks out the window at the position of the sun.

"Yes," she replies with a small smile, "I have slept all evening."

'Finally, when was the last time?' She muses as the servant woman leaves her to her breakfast of jam, toast and oatmeal.

Sitting back on her bed the native simply smiles lazily up at the ceiling. Even if she tried, and she did not wish to do so, she could not remember the last time she slept so deep and soundlessly through the night. She could feel him; the outline of his body still lingered in the bed along with his scent which she breathes if only to remind herself that she is truly alive.

If only to remind her that she is truly now free.

She hurriedly eats the breakfast and opens the parchment that she had hid in the pillows she loves so much.

My Dear Pocahontas,

I am so sorry. I am sorry for leaving you this morning, I am sorry for not telling you a hell of a lot sooner. I am sorry for the things that I did not say to you knowing that I should have a long time ago. How much I desire for things to be different, how I long to have a night where I can wake you with a gentle kiss instead of slipping away at first light like a coward. How I wish to express my love for you with actions other than words.

Please allow me to start. I will go this morning and request an audience with the king and implore him for his blessing to marry you.

-…-..-..-

The woman, shocked nearly drops the letter as her hands tremble, her heart leaping like a young deer over the forest floor.

-..-..-.—

Through our marriage we will cement the peace. I will remind his majesty that it was I who helped to find the settlement and how I am very much respected among the natives.

Only if that is what you want me to do. If so, do not reply to this letter. If your heart truly is with…

-…-..-

The native squints in the light of the day, trying to make out his last few lines. It looks like he can hardly complete his thoughts. That the notion of her with Rolfe is too much for him to even write.

-…-..-..—

Leave your reply under the rock that sits beneath the third rose bush to the left of the stone bench.

I will never forget you Pocahontas,

I love you,

John Smith

-…-…-…-..—

The bells ring overhead and for the first time they do not give her a headache. Mrs. Jenkins dabs at her eyes with a handkerchief and sniffles.

"I am sorry he just could not come. However, I care for you dear and just had to get you ready for your wedding day."

Pocahontas gives her a grateful smile and a meaningful hug, "Thank you."

The woman dresses in white, the man in the same color as his eyes. There gazes lock as she finally makes it down the aisle of the church in front of all the guests who think she could have married a man much better off than the captain ever would be.

A grin lights her eyes as they are finally wed, the polite applause following them to the carriage that waits for the couple in order to take them to the grand ball in their honor.

The native princess supposes it is an honor and she allows herself to actually enjoy the fine dining and dancing the evening offers. For now she knows that the diplomacy is well worth the hours of endless speeches, hollow complements and words of a job well done on her conforming will keep her people safe.

They will also keep her sanity intact as the evening air finally caresses her face when they get the chance to leave at the first polite opportunity.

-…-..-.

"What in heaven are you doing?"

A girlish laugh is his only reply as he knocks on the heavy door that separates him from his new bride. She finally, blessedly opens the door revealing her in a long shift as he wordlessly gazes.

"I am being unreasonable with you," she smiles and chuckles as he captures her against the wall, kicking and then locking the door shut as he feverishly kisses her. His fingers moving over the soft material of her shift until his hand gently yet firmly grasp her breast.

"I see," he says moaning at the contact against him as her hands move over his clothed back and chest.

"I would be careful treating me that way," he murmurs against her neck, "Or else this could be a very long night for you."

She arches an eyebrow as she moans, "Oh really, John smith? How could that be so?"

He slowly increases the pressure of his hold and then backing off of it only to return and do the same. His caresses are achingly slow and teasing, he gently rocking against her as she moans with the contact.

"I understand what you mean," she nods breathless as she pulls his head up in order to kiss him, "I will keep that in mind."

A low laugh is his retort as in one swift motion he picks her up and carries her over towards his bed. It is not as fancy as the one she had at his house; however it doesn't seem to bother her as they become a mess of tangled limbs and gasping breaths.

Her mouth finds the outline of his jaw, then down his neck where she suckles on his collarbone and he shivers at her touch. Her hands slide lower, getting to know a man in a way she never had before and never would again with anyone else. He strains to state her name as they finally lay flesh to flesh with one another.

"Make me yours… Make me remember… Have me feel alive again like the morning I realized you.-"

He silences her with a burning kiss to her mouth. Over and over his hands and lips move above her the captain taking his time. The man had waited for years to make love to her and he was not going to rush it.

Not for a blasted ship. Not for a higher station in life. Not for the world.

He nips at her inner thigh earning a moan from her swollen lips. A constant circular motion on her breast is making her body arch and twist. Filled with a need she cannot place yet knowing he can.

It is when his lips gently touch her center that she subconsciously moves to the rhythm that he has set. And when he finally makes the two of them one, her nails make patterns down his unclothed back until the pain subsides.

"I am sorry," he states as he is still and slowly kisses her mouth, cheeks and forehead and the woman smiles up at her husband.

The man she would forever and always love and he in return. The man that could not give her fine jewelry or dresses but was endless in his devotion and love to her.

The man that could give her people peace.

She knew when all was said and done that those facts were all the two of them would ever need.

-..-..-End of, "Driven."-..-..-


End file.
